


Aftermath

by Lavosse



Series: Farmer Abroad [4]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Kingbury, Kissing, M/M, Making Love, Making Up, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, This is y'all's valentine's present
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2018-05-20 07:48:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5997532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lavosse/pseuds/Lavosse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam has never been able to hold a grudge.</p><p>This will probably make more sense if you read <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/5896648">Three Weeks in England</a> first, but it can stand alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Aftermath

**Author's Note:**

> Whelp...I'm actually rather proud of this. @ any of my irl friends or family--run away quickly.  
> Also the last scene is the same last scene as Three Weeks in England, since the fics overlap.

Samuel knew he was supposed to be angry, but this close, he couldn’t remember the argument’s purpose for the life of him. They glared at each other for a few seconds, so close their noses were touching, before Sam lost his grip on his last ounce of self-control, slamming their mouths together. George’s lips were chapped and rough, and the kiss was sloppy and unpracticed but absolutely ferocious.

All of George’s movements were tense as he drew away, gasping. Their heavy breaths mingled in the still air of the dark bedchamber. Only one lamp burned, casting long, irregular shadows around the room.

“Bed?” George asked, hopefully.

Sam exhaled in a rush, eyes wide. “Bed,” he agreed.

George swept down to commandeer Sam’s mouth again, and— _oh_ —there was tongue this time, and that wasn’t something he’d expected to enjoy quite this much. He tried to mirror the King’s movements, but his careful mental notes on kissing with tongue were swept away when George picked him up and carried him, without considerable difficulty, to the bed. Sam almost laughed—he was certain that somewhere among being pinned against the wall and carried like a child, he was going to develop a— _oh, how would a bishop word it_ —an unhealthy appreciation of stronger men.

George deposited Samuel on the exorbitant expanse of mattress with less grace than he would’ve liked, but more than he’d expected, and moved to straddle him. With one knee on either side of Sam’s stomach, he began to fumble open the buttons of Sam’s waistcoat, pausing after the third.

“I’m sorry, I should ask.” The anger seemed to have vanished from his eyes, and Sam couldn’t say he was unhappy about it. ‘Hate sex’ was not something he really wanted to experience, especially not with someone like George, whom he…cared about.

“Sammy?”

He must have spaced out. “Mm?” he replied, cheeks flushing pink.

“If you need me to stop or slow down, tell me.”

Sam grabbed George’s shoulders and rolled them over so that he was on top, leaning down to kiss the King fiercely. “I—”

Catching himself just in time, he smiled instead. “Thank you.”

His hands were shaking in anticipation and anxiety, but he flicked open the King’s buttons fairly quickly, and George set about returning the favor. By the time Sam’s waistcoat and shirt hung open, his thighs were trembling. He hadn’t realized how difficult it would be to not rest all of his weight on the man below him.

Seeming to sense this, George rolled them back over, kneeling between Sam’s legs.

_Shameful, spreading your legs like that. So much for being a man of God._

_I never swore chastity,_ Sam protested to himself weakly, but then George leaned down to kiss him, angling for his neck, and all other thoughts flew out the window.

Sam let out an involuntary whine as George mouthed a line of sweet, openmouthed kisses down his neck, pausing near his collarbone to suck a mark into the sensitive skin there.

Sam tossed his arms around the King’s neck as George rolled his hips forward, grinding against Sam, who threw his head back into the pillows as pleasure spiked through him. “Oh my _word,_ George—”

Although his cock had been alert before then, he was definitely hard now, but that paled in comparison to the shocked realization that George was hard too. For him. George, who’d called him beautiful, who’d been so kind. Sam felt entirely overwhelmed.

Getting his breath back, Sam let his hands wander down the King’s chest, fingertips trailing lightly over the edges of muscles, exploring. George rolled his hips again, panting a little, and Sam moaned helplessly before pulling him down for a kiss, partly because he wanted it, mostly because he wasn’t sure he could look the other man in the eye as he let his hand wander lower.

The King started when Sam palmed his hardness through his breeches. He returned the kiss fervently while Sam clumsily unbuttoned his own trousers with one hand, sighing in relief from the pressure.

Moving back to George’s breeches, Sam discovered with dismay that they boasted laces, and much to his chagrin, his hands were shaking. There was no way he’d be unlacing anything.

“…George?”

“What do you need? What can I do?” George murmured, engrossed in leaving wet kisses along Sam’s jawline. To his own ears the words sounded cringe-worthy, overeager and pitiful, but all Sam could think was of how considerate it was.

“I don’t know what I need, I’m trusting you,” he replied, laughing unsteadily. “But in other news,” he held up his trembling hands, “I can’t undo your breeches.”

George huffed a laugh. “Of course.” Sitting back on his haunches, he quickly undid the problematic laces, easily slipping out of his breeches and sliding stiffly off the bed to retrieve something—a small jar—from the nightstand. “Lotion,” he said, offering no other explanation before crawling back on top of Sam and dipping down for a kiss, reaching between them to take Sam in hand.

“T-that’s—”

_Will I ever be able to tell you how helpless I feel around you? How much I love you?_

“That’s what?”

_I need to know I make you feel the same way._

“Good. Perfect. Go—keep going.”

_Would I still be able to live with myself if I lost you?_

Sam canted his hips up desperately, but was met only with the loss of the King’s hand. He whined in disappointment.

“Shhh.”

George gestured for Sam to lay back against the pillows, of which there were a multitude, and Sam obeyed reluctantly, falling back into a pile of cushions. He felt a confusing mix of curiosity about what the taller man had planned, and arousal intense enough that he didn’t really care. He felt terribly exposed.

He obviously hadn’t been paying enough attention, because he was shocked and startled when George pressed a manicured finger, slick with lotion, against his entrance.

“Don’t let me go too fast,” George said, sounding more like he was pleading than anything.

Sam nodded, not trusting his words to come out in the right order anymore. His cock twitched when George slid another finger in alongside the first, and Sam gasped a little. It didn’t hurt—not too much, anyway—but the sensation was going to take some getting used to.

_Sodomy, Samuel? How much farther can you fall?_

Sam pushed the thought away viciously as the other man began to pump his fingers in and out, producing an unexpected, bittersweet pleasure. He could grapple with his conscience later.

George crooked his fingers, which really just felt odd, and Sam was about to question it when George did it again, hitting something inside him perfectly. Sam cried out as pleasure flooded him. Each time the younger man brushed past that spot, it sparked pleasure, feeling the way that fireworks looked.

George grinned, feeling victorious. “Was that alright?”

Sam nodded enthusiastically, eyes screwed shut. He was certain he could feel himself melting.

George’s smile broadened. “Be as loud as you need to,” he offered. “If anybody says anything, I’ll just have their hands cut off.”

Samuel cracked an eye open, glaring.

“Okay, bad joke.”

Sam hissed in disappointment and discomfort as George withdrew his fingers, dipping them back into the jar of lotion to slick his leaking cock, and inhaled tremulously as George lined himself up and pressed forward.

Apparently someone who seemed decently well-endowed to the eyes felt _huge_ when they were inside of you. Sam relaxed as best he could, holding his breath until the King was fully seated inside him.

George kissed Sam slowly, resting his forehead against Sam’s and breathing heavily. “You feel _incredible_ ,” he whispered, and Sam murmured assent, breathless and wondering how something could hurt this much and still manage to be desirable. “Hold—hold on. Catch my breath.” He buried his face in George’s shoulder.

“Okay,” he mumbled after several moments, when the burn had finally subsided and yielded to a bone-deep pleasure. “I’m okay.”

George rocked his hips experimentally, looking down at Sam to gauge his reaction. Sam’s eyes went wide, and he inhaled deeply. With the next shallow thrust, he wrapped one leg around George’s waist. “Is that okay?”

“I’m the one who should be asking that,” George huffed, concentrating. “Can I move?”

Sam didn’t answer for a moment, processing the George had asked, that he cared enough to ask. “Please.”

George started as slowly as he could manage, counting in his head to keep a steady pace. Sam made a sound somewhere between a sob and a broken moan when the King brushed past his prostate, scrabbling at George’s shoulders for purchase. He was achingly hard and he’d barely been touched, but he didn’t care. The feeling of George inside him, thrusting more powerfully with each stroke, was utterly overwhelming.

He closed his eyes to revel in sensation, aware of the heat coiling in the depths of his stomach, the intense friction and contrasting slide, and of George’s scent, vetiver and citrus and pine.

“ _Ah—_ George, I’m _so close_ —”

George wasn’t remotely close when he felt Sam tighten around him in expectation of release, but the sight of Sam coming catapulted him over the edge.

Head thrown back, mouth open in a silent cry, back arched off the sheets, Sam was the picture of ecstasy. In that moment, George would have told anybody that Samuel— _his Sam_ —was the only reason the sun still bothered to rise.

***

When Sam came back to himself and could breathe again, he rolled over to George, who’d collapsed next to him. “You good?”

George huffed and gave Sam a thumbs-up. “Definitely good. I swear, Sammy, for a minute there, you glowed.”

Sam just grinned and curled into the taller man’s side, reaching an arm around his middle and burying his face in George’s shoulder.

“Can we do that without fighting first?”

“Absolutely any time you want. Please.”

“I’m sorry I said those things. I—”

There were those words again, on the tip of his tongue, and all he could think about was the damage they’d done before, when he _hadn’t_ said them.

“—I love you.”

George wrapped an arm around him tightly, pressing a kiss to the top of Sam’s head.

“Thank _god_ I’m not the only one,” he murmured. “I love you so much, Sammy.”

**Author's Note:**

> I can't believe this ship has dragged me under this deep.  
> Please comment and kudos, as I consume comments like food and rely on them for my continued existence.  
> XOXO,  
> Lavosse


End file.
